


Dialogues of the Dead

by Brumeier



Series: Gay Paree, 1920s [12]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Meetings, Flashbacks, M/M, Major Character Injury, Paris (City), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-World War I, seance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: A debate about the afterlife leads John, Rodney, Evan, and David to a séance presided over by a mime Evan met on the  Porte des Étoiles. John doesn't expect someone from the other side to reach out for him.
Relationships: Evan Lorne/Parrish, Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: Gay Paree, 1920s [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816114
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11





	Dialogues of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagi_schwarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/gifts).



> Also written for hurt/comfort bingo: flashbacks
> 
> **warnings for wartime trauma**

_“What is a soul? It’s like electricity – we don’t really know what it is, but it’s a force that can light a room.”_ – Ray Charles

* * *

“You can’t honestly believe that,” Rodney said scornfully.

“Why not?” Evan argued. “You can’t disprove it.”

“It’s unquantifiable.”

“What about that guy the measured the soul? Didn’t he prove it weighed three quarters of an ounce?”

Rodney snorted. “MacDougall? He found exactly what he was looking for, and I’m not going to expound on the many flaws in his process. _Many_ flaws.”

“So you don’t believe in an afterlife?” David asked.

John enjoyed watching Rodney get into a heated discussion. His eyes gleamed, his face flushed, and his wide, vigorous gestures threatened passersby. The four of them were sitting at their favorite table outside of Atlantis Café, enjoying some cheap wine and sharing a charcuterie board.

“I believe the concept of the afterlife was created by human beings as a way to deal with the fear of dying,” Rodney said. “And to protect their fragile egos. There’s no proof to the contrary. Every so-called medium and spiritualist has been debunked.”

“Swedenborg –”

“Swedenborg probably suffered from a brain ailment. The Fox sisters, Cora Scott, John Franklin Gray, they were all charlatans.” Rodney looked at John. “Back me up here.”

“Energy conversion,” John said, plucking a piece of cheese off the board.

Rodney scowled. “That has nothing to do with this conversation.”

“What do you mean, John?” David asked, elbows on the table as he leaned closer. 

“Basic physics. Energy can change, but it can’t be destroyed. Isn’t that right, McKay?”

“You choose the most inappropriate times to demonstrate your intelligence,” Rodney said sourly.

John wasn’t fooled. Rodney valued intelligence above all things and, if he wasn’t mistaken, that was Rodney’s foot rubbing against his ankle under the table.

“So in this instance, the energy would be the soul,” David mused. “That makes sense. Human energy has to go somewhere once the vessel is no longer viable.”

John didn’t miss the look of open affection on Evan’s face, like David had hung the moon. He usually kept himself in check better when he was out in public – Evan was normally very self-contained – but he’d been a lot more open since returning from the States.

“You can’t equate energy with the soul,” Rodney insisted.

“Can’t dismiss it either,” John said.

“I know a guy.” Evan poured himself more wine. “He’s having a séance tomorrow night. We should go.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Rodney,” John said. “You can be our Houdini. Prove everyone else wrong.”

He nudged Rodney’s foot with his own and gave him an imploring look. John had no interest in attending a séance, not really, but it would be fun to see Rodney in the midst of a group of spiritualists, fighting for logic and science over belief in the unknowable. 

“What do you really think?” Rodney asked, studying John with almost uncomfortable intensity. 

“I think I’m smart enough to know I don’t know everything,” John replied honestly.

“Fine. I’ll go. But I won’t be nice.”

Evan laughed and raised his glass in a toast.

*o*o*o*

“How do you know this guy?” John asked Evan.

They were at the site of the séance, a large apartment that clearly belonged to someone wealthy. There were velvet chairs and intricate damask wallpaper and gold accents everywhere. The people John and his friends normally associated with were of a much lower social status.

“He’s a mime on the Porte des Étoiles,” Evan explained. “We got to talking one day.”

“You struck up a conversation with a mime?” Rodney asked, incredulous. “Who does that?”

“Evan’s charm is irresistible,” David said solemnly.

Evan’s face flushed. “His mother is friends with the man who owns this place, and he agreed to let Blair use it tonight.”

“So the mime is a medium too?” John asked. “Interesting.”

“I think you mean ludicrous,” Rodney corrected. 

When Blair made his big entrance, John was unsurprised to see Laura on his arm. She had a knack for getting invited to esoteric social events.

“Look at this gaggle of swanky gentlemen,” Laura enthused. She gave each one of them a kiss on the cheek that left a red lip print behind. “Rodney McKay. How on earth did they talk you into a séance? Never mind. I don’t want to know.” 

She gave an exaggerated wink.

“Glad you could make it,” Blair said to Evan, who proceeded to make introductions.

Blair didn’t look like a mime. Or a medium. He was slight of stature, his curly hair longer than was fashionable and only lightly tamed with Brilliantine. He had an open expression and a firm handshake.

“You’re the skeptic,” Blair said when he got to Rodney.

“I suppose Evan told you.”

“No. You just look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.” Blair grinned. “But that’s good. We need someone to keep us grounded.”

He left to greet the other guests, Laura still hanging on to his arm. She towered over him with her heels on.

There were three other guests, plus Laura. After Blair lit a ring of white candles in the middle of a large round table and turned out the lights, he had everyone take their seats. John sat between Evan and Rodney, prepared to enjoy whatever show Blair was about to put on.

“Our life force moves to another plane of existence after death,” Blair began. “It’s separated from us by a thin, nearly impenetrable veil. I merely act as a conduit, a way for those in the spirit plane to communicate with us. There won’t be any theatrics, no ectoplasm or ghostly figures. Just their words, given to me to pass along to you.”

A woman appeared out of the dark, her green beaded caftan glimmering in the candlelight. She put a teacup on the table in front of Blair, pressed a kiss to his temple, and vanished again.

“To be clear, that was not a specter. That was my mother.”

A ripple of laughter moved around the table.

“What’s in the cup?” Rodney asked suspiciously.

“A simple blend of plants and herbs, gathered in the jungles of Peru. A shaman there taught me how to prepare them to open my own spirit to the next plane of existence.”

John could smell it from across the table and it was strong and unpleasant. But Blair drank it like it was water, no indication of distaste. He drained it quickly, and then did some deep breathing with his eyes closed. 

“Okay. Everyone place your hands palm down on the table.”

Some of the other guests had their eyes closed as well, but John was curious. He kept an eye on the proceedings, watching as everyone complied.

“Clear your minds. The more open you are, the more we’ll get from the spirit plane.”

“Spirit plane my eye,” Rodney grumbled.

Blair tipped his head back and rolled it slowly from side to side. “I’m getting something. A flower. Purple. Maybe blue. Shaped like a bell.”

Evan’s hand twitched next to John’s, but Evan was looking at David so John couldn’t see what expression was on his face. 

“There’s a maternal presence. And a bird. A hawk.”

“Gram,” Evan whispered.

“Celebrate our parting,” Blair said, the tone and cadence of his voice slightly different. “It’s just temporary, kiddo.”

Evan and David were holding hands on the table now, and Evan looked a little damp around the eyes. Rodney nudged John, who shot him a look and shrugged. He didn’t know what that information meant to Evan, but it clearly meant _something_.

“He obviously told this guy about his grandmother’s funeral,” Rodney muttered.

Blair took a couple deep breaths. 

“I’m smelling peppermint. And tobacco.”

One of the other guests, a woman, gave a little gasp.

“It’s a very masculine presence. Very focused. Serious.”

The woman nodded, one hand pressed to her mouth.

“He wants you to check under something. _Regarde sous le sol_. Where? Kitchen…Oh. _Dans le garde-manger_.”

“Merci,” the woman said. “Merci, papa.”

John had to fight the urge to rub the back of his neck, where his skin was prickling with unease. What Blair was doing didn’t seem like a magic trick or a showy bit of subterfuge. The things he was saying seemed very specific. John glanced at Rodney, who was favoring Blair with a narrow-eyed look.

“Is this for real?” John murmured into Rodney’s ear.

“Of course not,” Rodney replied without as much concern for keeping his voice down. “It’s a simple psychic’s trick, that’s all.”

Blair grinned without opening his eyes and moved on to the next message from beyond.

“I have a sense of water. All around me. And someone…A young girl. Maureen? No.”

“Melissa,” Laura said. She was sitting next to Blair, and he reached over to cover her hand with his. 

“I see a lake, surrounded by trees.” Blair’s voice did that thing again, where he almost sounded like someone else. “I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry.”

Laura gripped Blair’s hand and bit her lip, the only outward signs that she was affected by what he’d said. That, more than anything else, threw John for a loop. In all the time he’d known Laura, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen an honest emotion from her. She was a performer, knew how to put on a show. Even with her friends. Her not playing things up now for effect had to be proof what Blair was doing was real.

“We should go,” John said, leaning close to murmur in Rodney’s ear. “I have a bad feeling.”

Blair sucked in a breath. “Wow. Okay. This is a strong presence. I’m feeling a lot of vertigo, a lot of wind against my face. There’s a lot of noise all around me.”

_He went through a series of flat turns and quick rolls to avoid enemy fire. The plane shuddered around him, the vibrations shaking his hands on the stick._

“I see a plane, and a circle inside a star inside another circle.”

_His wingman was ahead of him, German Fokkers on their tails. His plane took a couple hits to the wings and he pushed her harder. If he could go into a steep climb and pop back behind the enemy, he could turn the tables. He wished he could communicate his plan to Holland._

“There’s wreckage, and fire. And regret. So much regret.”

_The pressure pushed him back in his seat, and for a few seconds his vision whited out. His plane shuddered violently as he climbed and went into an inversion. The thrill was there, as it always was, and a sense of calm despite the danger of the situation. He could do this._

“Okay, that’s enough,” Rodney said. His voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

_He expected the Fokkers to break off and focus on him, but they didn’t. By the time he got in position to fire on them, they were already firing on Holland. He could only watch as Holland’s plane plummeted to the ground, smoke billowing out of her engines._

“Hey. John. Can you hear me?”

Someone turned the lights back on, but the candles were still flickering on the table. In his mind’s eye, John could see the flames from the planes, Holland’s and the two he shot down. He could feel the heat as he tried to pull Holland out of his mangled plane, burning his hands and his arms. 

Holland was still alive when the world exploded around them. John never forgot that.

He woke up days later in a French hospital, shrapnel having sliced up his right arm and his side. His time as an Ace was over, his goal of beating Rickenbacker’s victories nothing more than a foolish, empty dream. They gave him a Medal of Honor and a Distinguished Service Cross, both of which he’d sent home to his father.

Why wouldn’t his hands stop shaking?

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Rodney pulled John out of his chair, and John went willingly, still lost in his memories of his final dogfight. Remembering how much easier things had been in the air than they ever were on the ground.

“I’m really sorry,” Blair said, walking with them to the door. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“You were just guessing,” Rodney snapped at him. “Do you get your jollies from messing with people’s minds?”

“Someone wanted to get a message to him. I was only trying to help.”

John stopped, one hand on the doorframe. “What’s the message?”

“John –”

He cut off Rodney’s protest. “I want to know.”

Blair put his hand out, like he meant to offer a comforting touch, but one withering look from Rodney aborted that movement.

“He doesn’t blame you. He knows you tried.”

John’s throat tightened up, every swallow feeling like broken glass, and his eyes burned.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

*o*o*o*

“There’s no way he could’ve known about my grandmother,” Evan said. “It was very specific, what he said. Very personal. Not even David knew all of it.”

His voice carried into the bedroom from the living room, where he was rehashing the events of the evening with Rodney and David. John had been undressed and tucked into bed, Rodney shooting him worried glances all the while, but he didn’t figure he’d be getting much sleep.

“And you two were last minute guests,” David reminded Rodney. “He wouldn’t have had time to do any research on John’s time in the Air Service.”

“Do _you_ even know anything about that time?” Evan asked.

“We don’t talk about our lives from before,” Rodney replied. “We don’t need to.”

John had thought he was putting his past behind him, making a new life in Paris that had nothing to do with his wealthy father or John shooting young German boys out of the sky. Running away, is what his brother called it. Hiding from the pain of his past.

Maybe Dave had been right all along. Maybe Paris was just another empty dream that would eventually fade.

John didn’t realize he was crying until Rodney was there on the bed with him, holding him and rubbing his back.

“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

John clung to him and tried his hardest to believe what Rodney said was true.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** I was in a bit of a writing slump, and was casting around for something to bring me out of it. Two things came together – some notes I’d jotted down for my 1920s ‘verse and Nagi’s birthday. This ‘verse really lends itself to the angst, which I hadn’t originally intended, but I know Nagi and she can bring the angst better than anyone. So I knew she’d appreciate this. ::grins:: She's also been a big supporter of this 'verse, for which I want to say thank you so much!
> 
> Title is also the title of a book written by George Lyttelton, 1st Baron Lyttelton, in 1760


End file.
